


Things You Call Fate

by foxseal



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Dance, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Wedding Fluff, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-19 23:34:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16544450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxseal/pseuds/foxseal
Summary: ☆ A set of nielwink drabbles ☆Chapter 1 - Jihoon has no idea what to think of the rude stranger he bumps into at the laundromat.Chapter 2 - Jihoon and Daniel have their first dance together.Chapter 3 - Jihoon wakes up with a wedding band around his finger.Chapter 4 - Jihoon and Daniel are rivals at a rowing club.





	1. how can we forget -

**Author's Note:**

  * For [himarisu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/himarisu/gifts).



> ♡ happiest birthday to my main b, my #1 enabler and the best 'best friend' a girl could ask for - kei!!! thank god nielwink fed you FULL because i can safely say you've fulfilled part of my birthday wish for you: to pamper yourself with good food!  
> ♡ i wish i had more flexibility and time than the few hours before midnight typing this in an airbnb in belfast, but i wanted to make sure you started off your birthday right!!! (i.e. with nielwink) and i think a nielwink that doesn't end terribly was long overdue from my end anyway... although it's extra short, if it manages to make you smile a little i'll be happy with that!  
> ♡ title from sondre lerche's song of the same name

 

Skipping one or two days of laundry duty is fine. But abandoning the obligation for an extended period of two weeks ends with Jihoon huffing in frustration as he struggles to fit three bagfuls of clothing into one washing machine—all the while attempting to balance his phone in its optimal position lest his stream gets cut off.

Thankfully, the laundromat is empty at this hour; there’s only one machine being used, groaning and rumbling in the corner, meaning no one is there to witness Jihoon’s pathetic battle with a mountain of unwashed laundry and his viewership of what is arguably one of the most dramatic finals in the history of video game championships. With his assignments finally cleared after three arduous weeks of consecutive deadlines, Jihoon can probably count the hours he’s spent outside of his room and the college library over the two weeks on one hand. The taxing chore of finally getting clean underwear to wear once more is only the first item on his long list of Things To Do Without Imminent Guilt. 

Jihoon has no idea when his definition of fun and games became equivalent to completing domestic responsibilities, yet here he is.

After another ten minutes wrestling with dirty undergarments and dodgy-smelling shirts, Jihoon is able to finally sit back and catch his breath. He picks his phone up and shuffles over to the benches across the machines, meaning to finally give the game his undivided attention in the silence of the empty laundromat. 

Jihoon’s tranquility proves to be short-lived as the door slams open not long after. A man decked in a wrinkled hoodie dotted with wet patches—morning jog, most likely—walks inside with an air of purpose, like he’s visiting a tiny neighbourhood laundromat on a business of a much higher importance than doing his laundry.  

He must not have noticed Jihoon at first because his eyes seem to widen after giving Jihoon a customary glance. The man quickly looks away without so much as a nod in acknowledgement, so Jihoon doesn’t bother with one, either—only looks on in piqued interest from over the screen of his phone. What hair Jihoon can see from under the hood is a maroon-red colour, warm and inviting, and though the man’s stature speaks of solid strength and authority, his expression is soft—eyes a little downturned in the corners, face still a smidge puffy from sleep and lips pursed in concentration.

Jihoon can’t stop staring, even when the commentators are screaming in his ear about a quadra kill or another. And he isn’t usually one to initiate conversations with strangers—but for this one, he thinks he’s willing to make an exception. 

“Good morning,” Jihoon says, faking nonchalance by redirecting his gaze back to his phone screen. 

No reply comes. 

Jihoon frowns and looks up to see the stranger bending down to pull his clothes out of the only other used washing machine, his movements quick and efficient. If Jihoon wasn’t so busy being offended, he would definitely have been appreciating the view of the stranger’s ass, enticing even in the most unflattering sweatpants. 

“Good morning,” Jihoon says again a little louder, but all the stranger does is move over to the dryer to dump his clothes inside.

“Good morning. Hi, good morning. Hey, _dumbass_ , I said good morning—" 

And just as quickly as he had entered, the man leaves again without a single word or a glance back—only another slam of the door, like it’s done him some a great sin.

Jihoon gapes, now for an entirely different reason. “Unbelievable.“ 

Jihoon tries his hardest not to fume, but it’s difficult to care about terrible picks and gold deficits or yet another inhibitor being destroyed when his mind is plagued by thoughts about a sweet-looking strangers, seemingly so vulnerable and _soft_  in his basic exercise outfit, who turns out to be a rude son of a bitch. Jihoon isn’t even sure why he quite cares so much about some sweaty man in a corner laundromat. Surely, for someone with his level of intellect, there must be other things to preoccupy his mind with.

The fourth game of the finals end and, with no tiebreaker in sight, the commentator announces that the match will indeed proceed to a fifth round. 

Jihoon sits there for what seems to be eons, alternating between his Twitter feed and his KakaoTalk chat groups (they are both exploding disproportionately with intense reactions) and glossing over lines of messages repeatedly, never really absorbing anything. It’s only when the door slams open again that Jihoon looks up with a jolt—and then unconsciously huffs in annoyance. He follows the same red-haired, puppy-eyed figure as it stalks to the dryer, reclaiming his clothes with the deftness Jihoon witnessed before. 

Whatever. Jihoon isn’t even going to try greeting him again. 

The man seems to linger in front of the dryer for a while—not that Jihoon is noticing, because the countdown page with the cat mascot floating about in the corner is of extreme importance and interest to him at the moment. Soon enough, the man slips out of the laundromat again, and Jihoon is about to check on his own laundry when his gaze lands on something on the floor. 

A pair of black boxers. 

Frowning, he picks them up—with no less than three unsavoury thoughts about the stranger’s hygiene—and is about to quickly chase the man down regardless of how awkward it would be waving undergarments in public when something falls out of the boxers’ pocket.

There, on a ripped piece of paper is a phone number scrawled scruffily, clearly written in a rush, and the name Daniel on the bottom. 

Jihoon has to clutch his sides as he bends over laughing, unable to feel nothing but disbelief and amusement. Still cackling, he pushes open the door of the laundromat and spots the man, who seems to be strolling at a far too leisurely a pace for someone with such long legs.

“Real romantic,” Jihoon calls from the end of the street, turning a few heads. “How could anyone resist getting your digits from a pair of boxers?" 

The man across the street—Daniel—whirls around abruptly, face aghast and mortified. He practically runs up to Jihoon, and perhaps he would have been an intimidating figure if not for the fact that his face is one of a deer caught in several headlights and Jihoon is holding his underwear in his right hand—an imagery that only serves to crack Jihoon up again. Daniel's face as he approaches is a delicious cocktail of embarrassment, desperation and… is that relief Jihoon sees? 

“Couldn’t you have tapped me on the shoulder first?” he whines neat row of teeth gritted in so much frustration that Jihoon can’t help but adopt a triumphant grin on his face. “I didn’t need half of the city knowing.” 

“Couldn’t have chosen a subtler piece of clothing? Something less suggestive?” Jihoon teases back. “Maybe trousers or shirts with pockets?" 

Daniel’s cheeks are now an attractive shade of pink. “Shut it! It’s barely eight, you’re going to wake up the entire street." 

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Only if you haven’t woken them up with your door-slamming.”

Now Daniel looks perplexed. “Door slamming?“ 

“Yes… unless you’d rather categorise the maltreatment of the laundromat doors as something milder than slamming." 

“Oh. _Oh_ , god, no—” There’s a look of realisation on his face, followed by a twinge of regret. "Sometimes I don’t really… notice what I’m doing when I have these on.” Here, he pulls out a pair of earphones from the pocket of his hoodie, expensive-looking and evidently meant for noise-cancellation. 

Jihoon raises his eyebrows. “Is that why you didn’t return my good morning?" 

It’s incredibly comical, the way Daniel perks up like his own ears can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Good… good morning?" 

“I said it only a few dozen times —”  

Now he looks one embarrassing point away from being completely hysterical. “ _A few dozen times_?“ 

“Okay, exaggeration. But,” Jihoon shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant despite the furious blush he can feel on the tips of his ears. “I did try to start a conversation. You just didn’t reply or seem very interested —" 

“No!” Daniel almost shouts, sounding very adamant. He clears his throat. “I mean… no, I am interested. God, you probably thought I was a complete dick." 

“I would be lying if I said I didn't." 

Daniel sighs, finally pulling his hoodie down and giving Jihoon full view of delectably mussed-up red hair, making him look well-fucked instead of just well-rested. He runs a hand through it, which successfully makes the locks even more unruly. “I swear I’m usually better than this." 

“I sure hope you are,” Jihoon laughs good-naturedly. 

“It’s just—I don’t usually meet incredibly cute boys at half seven in the morning.” 

Jihoon’s heart leaps in his chest. “Thankfully, I am very good at starting over." 

The relief in Daniel’s eyes is replaced by something even more acute—and Jihoon realises it’s complete elation. Elation, from hearing no more than ten short words. How endearing. Jihoon briefly thinks that, already, he knows this one is going to be a keeper.

“Good morning, I’m Park Jihoon. Nice to meet you, mystery jogger.” He holds out his hand. 

Daniel takes it eagerly. “Good morning. I’m Kang Daniel, and… and I’d like you to call me sometime." 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Later, when they’ve stopped in front of Jihoon’s apartment with each other’s numbers keyed in Jihoon asks, “Who wears boxers with pockets, anyway?”

 


	2. - if you never regret.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jihoon and Daniel have their first dance together.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: this is completely unrelated to the previous fic!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ kei: END YOUR BDAY WITH NIELWINK TOO BONTCHASS XO
> 
> inspired by [this](https://twitter.com/ynl3265/status/1059880029679693824) and basically the entire night of nielwink we got because wow. they were well and truly giving out married vibes...

 

 

The band starts playing—it’s a jazzy number, a slow, soulful one that brings out the pretty baritone of Jaehwan’s vocals. The crowd breaks off into anticipated murmur as their heads turn to the couple for whom a path between the crowd has been carved out.  

Daniel clasps his hands together, feels the band around his left ring finger against his skin. Feels a massive impulsive to bend down and kiss his groom silly—

—so he does exactly that, bends down and presses his lips against Jihoon’s  

“ _Mmm_ —Daniel, stop,” Jihoon reprimands as the crowd erupts in a series of _aww_ s, but nothing in his tone suggests his disapproval. He’s just as drunk on ecstasy as Daniel is, if his flushed cheeks and glimmering eyes are anything to go by. “We’ve done our first kiss, now it’s time for our first dance.” 

“Nothing in the rule book says we can’t have our second kiss during our first dance. Or our third, fourth, fifth—“

“Hurry up and dance, lovebirds!” 

From the corner of the large, outdoor veranda their reception is held at, Seongwoo is frantically waving his arm around, evidently already tipsy from the generous champagne replenishes. A sheepish Minhyun is attempting to subdue him with a firm grip around his torso, pulling him away from the front row of the crowd—and for some reason watching the two compels Daniel to reach out for Jihoon’s waist as well, unconsciously slipping an arm around his back. 

He blinks, realising what he’s done when Jihoon sidles up closer with a small smile that catches him breathless, even through the weariness of a whole day of ceremony. Daniel follows the curve of Jihoon’s soft-pink lips, and knows there will never be a sight more beautiful than his now-husband—has known that since he first set eyes on Jihoon the first time they met as rowboat athletes in college. Has known that even through their tumultuous start; has been sure of it the night Jihoon climbed onto his lap, told him nervously but with enviable conviction _Daniel, I’m going to kiss you now;_ and has never forgotten no matter how many times he watches Jihoon splayed out under him, cheeks flushed, hair thrown back across the pillow like a halo around his head and whispering his name like reverent prayers.

But this image of Jihoon in his fitted black wedding suit, the flower from the flowergirls’ basket Daehwi had slipped behind his ear as a joke, and an unhibited grin on his face, is a sight Daniel wants to commit to memory for years to come—wants to immortalise it better than any picture that would never do him justice. So he stares, and stares and stares and hopes to capture every detail of the happiest night of his life.

Shivers run down his back when Jihoon tugs on his arm and leans up to whisper in his ear, and suddenly Daniel is reminded that this will be his life from today on—existing in close proximity of the best man known to humankind, having the power to make his days or ruin them completely, clutching the heart he so loves in his own bare hands.

“Shall we?”

Daniel nods, knowing that from today on, he’ll agree to anything Jihoon would possibly want. 

There are whoops and cheers when they take the dance floor, but Daniel’s tunnel vision zeroes in on no one else but Jihoon—the crowd seems to melt away when Jihoon takes his hand and pulls him slowly to the middle, winds arms around his neck and pulls him close. What motor skills remain in Daniel guides him to cradle Jihoon’s waist—tentatively, at first, because this is so different to the many times he practiced with thin air in his bedroom alone, then with more confidence. Of course, it’s Jihoon who starts swaying first, gently steering Daniel side-to-side under the sweeping glow of the warm yellow spotlight.

He gets lost in the way Jihoon is grinning up at him, the _one two three, one two three_  steps he’d memorised completely forgotten. Maybe Daniel is stepping on Jihoon’s feet every two steps, but he can’t tear his gaze away for even a second to check. He’s drowned, completely and unabashedly, in Jihoon’s presence—and he has no intention of resurfacing. 

“Hey, Daniel.” There’s a finger pressing against the knit between his eyebrows—the one Daniel didn’t even realise was there—and he looks up to see Jihoon smiling at him, a little concerned. “What are you thinking about, hm?” 

“Just you,” Daniel answers without pause. “Always you.” 

“Okay, tiger, you can tone down on the flirting,” chides Jihoon—not that he minds in the least, if his small chuckle is anything to go by. “I mean, you’ve impressed me enough to marry you.”

“We’re married,” Daniel murmurs, closing his eyes. “Wow. We’re married now.” 

The saxophone descends into diminuendo in the background. There’s silence for a while before another piece begins, and with a hand on Daniel’s nape, Jihoon gently guides him down until their foreheads meet. They’re so close that Daniel has to take a shuddering breath to calm the nerves in his limbs, feeling like he’s back on his first date, anxiously wondering if his attire is good enough to make him look decent walking next to Jihoon. 

“Yeah, babe,” Jihoon smiles, pulls him forward so they fall into step again, circling the middle of the dance floor. “We are. We’re married now.” 

“I’m scared,” Daniel blurts out. 

Jihoon blinks, pulling back slightly. “Wha—“

“No—don’t go,” Daniel says quickly, pulling him back with a hand on his back. “Stay like this.” 

“Why are you scared?” Jihoon looks worried. “If you’re having second thoughts _now_ , Kang Daniel, I swear to god I’m going to—“ 

“No! What—Jihoon, I have never been more sure of anything in my _life_.” Daniel has a fist curled around Jihoon’s suit now, and he is clinging onto his husband in the middle of the dance floor, but he can’t care at all. “When you get upset—when someone’s done you wrong, I get so, so angry—and now I’m scared I’d be that person. Jihoon, I’m—I’m so scared of hurting you.” 

It’s probably not a conversation they should be having on the dance floor; but the crowd is starting to fill up the space around them now, engrossed in their own slow dance and sweeping away their hushed exchange in their laughter and glee. 

Daniel’s heart thunders in his ears as Jihoon’s gaze shifts to his feet, lips pursed in thought like he’s trying to construct a sentence with utmost care.

“Of course you’re going to hurt me,” says Jihoon at last. Daniel's hands grip Jihoon’s waist tighter, but immediately there’s a thumb stroking his nape soothingly, and Daniel fishes his heart back out from his gut. “But we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together, Daniel. There will be times where I hurt you too—it probably won’t be the last time, and it obviously wouldn’t be the first. We managed to…push through all those times and here we are, right?” he smiles. “We always find a way through it together.” 

“Were you ever scared?” Daniel doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, but Jihoon does, and Daniel thinks it’s credited to more than just his intelligence.

“Sometimes…you know, whenever I… I think about me messing up so bad that you might one day leave me, or get tired of me—“

“Jihoon—“ 

“I know, I _know_ , it’s not something you’d ever do,” Jihoon rolls his eyes—fondly. “But these thoughts…exist anyway, okay—and it’s nothing you can fix, because they’re…well, aren’t they just natural insecurities? They don’t last long.” He presses the tips of their noses together. “You never let them linger long enough.”  

“I don’t want to see you sad. Ever.” 

“We’re only humans, Daniel,” Jihoon murmurs, closing his eyes to smile. “But you’ll never hurt me enough to leave permanent damage. I’ll never go to bed sad because—because I know you’ll be there.”

“Oh my god,” he whispers. “Then what if I go on business trips?” 

“Now _that’s_ the Daniel I know.” Jihoon throws his head back to laugh, shaking his head. With a hand on Daniel’s arm, he twirls them around once and grins. “Loosen up, okay?” 

“Thank you,” says Daniel, feeling like a weight has been lifted off his chest. “What would I do without you?”

“Thankfully you won’t have to find out, because you’re stuck with me now.” 

Cupping Jihoon's face gingerly, Daniel stops their swaying; only to lean down and slot his lips over Jihoon’s, cradling his jaw gently and trying his best to say, with every fibre of his being:

“I love you.” He presses their lips together again, sucks at his bottom lip like a starved man. Lets their foreheads press together again as he whispers, “Jihoon, I love you so much.” 

Jihoon settles a hand over Daniel's on his own cheek and smiles. “I love you too.”

This will be Daniel's life from today on—existing in close proximity of the best man known to humankind, having the power to make his days or ruin them completely, clutching the heart he so loves in his own bare hands. 

And Daniel is going to make absolutely damn sure that Jihoon—his husband—will live every single day of his life feeling like the most loved man on Earth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi kei i hope u are now truly and fully stuffed! nielwink is fun to write even though i'm still struggling with ooc syndrome but!!! i hope u liked this smol fluff piece!!!
> 
> pls come and scream with me at <https://curiouscat.me/sealfox>!!!!!


	3. what happens in vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jihoon wakes up married.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since i decided to make this particular post a dump for all my nielwink drabbles, all subsequent fics will also be addressed to kei... LMAO... it's what you deserve really... for dragging me deep in w1 ficdom... now u will forever be subject to all my dumb drabbles and whack fics :/

Three things register in Jihoon's awfully muddled brain when he stirs to an approximation of wakefulness:

_One_ , he's _definitely_ been drinking last night.

_Two_ , he is in a hotel room.

Three, there is a wedding band around his left ring finger.

It's not a cheap thing either—even through the hangover Jihoon can gauge that much. Definitely not something he could have purchased on impulse, while on a company trip _in Vegas_ , no matter how good of an idea it had been in what Jihoon guesses must have been an incredibly heated, lust-charged moment. He groans as he lifts himself onto his elbows, noting that the space on the bed beside him is indented but unoccupied.

Great. His ‘husband' seems to have already made a run for it, and Jihoon didn't even get a chance to see what the guy looked like.

He's contemplating the process for a ring refund with the absence of a receipt when the bathroom door swings open and a tall, lean (but evidently muscular) man steps out. He's got nothing on but a towel wrapped around his waist and another around his neck, the red, damp strands of his hair sticking up on ends from the towel-drying.

Around his left ring finger is a wedding band identical to Jihoon's.

_Oh._

They meet eyes and the man lets out a noise that sounds a lot like a squeak. Strangely, this state of undress seems to embarrass him despite Jihoon being two-hundred-percent convinced that they've done more than strip each other naked, if the multiple love bites scattered all over his torso and pink, angry nail marks are anything to go by.

"Um," the man blinks. "Hi."

"Hey," Jihoon yawns, stretching exaggeratedly to dispel the nerves. "Um. Did I—I didn't wake you, did I?"

The man shakes his head quickly. "No! No, don't worry, I just. Woke up because of my alarm."

"Oh," Jihoon blinks, because he is usually alright with alarms and this one had slipped past him like he was a log on a mission to remain stationary forever. "I was really drunk last night, wasn't I?"

The man— _his husband—_ chuckles so softly Jihoon can feel himself melt against the sheets, already prepared to slip back to slumber land. “Um, a little,” the man lies. "We should probably talk."

If only Jihoon has a name to tack onto this apparently soft, flawless human being. There’s a small mole right under the man's right eye that Jihoon can’t take his eyes off of, so he keeps staring under the pretense of making eye contact. He hopes to God this man is as dense as he is well-built.

"Okay, yeah,” Jihoon finally replies with some semblance of rationality. This hangover is no joke. “Um, we can start with… uh, do you know… my name?"

"Yeah. Park Jihoon.” Damn. The fact that the man said his name without even the slightest hint of hesitation just makes Jihoon look like such a jerk in comparison. “And you’re training as an actor right now.”

Even better. “That’s… that’s right. And you, uh—" he winces. "I'm... I'm so sorry, I honestly can't remember much of last night."

“No, that's okay,” he laughs, evidently less enthusiastic. "I’m Kang Daniel, and I'm a dance instructor."

"Daniel.” Right. The name sounds a lot more familiar, now. "Nice to meet you, Daniel. You live in Vegas, or?"

"Ah, no, I'm just here visiting a friend who’s got an opera on in a couple of days. Decided to head early so I can spend some time exploring the place.”

"Well, hope you got what you wanted.” Jihoon says unconsciously, then winces because implying that a one-night stand as part of someone’s holiday itinerary isn’t exactly the most tasteful. “Sorry. Too soon?”

Daniel just grins and laughs again. “Do you really not remember last night?"

With his consciousness slowly kicking in, Jihoon _can_ piece together what he thinks is a chronological order of the previous night’s events—a very dimly-lit casino, many decks of cards, a lot of dangerously tasty drinks. He remembers finding himself across a poker table from a cocky-looking guy, red hair slicked back, smile too bright and sunny for a place of sinful pleasures like that— 

“Wait. Did you beat me in poker?” 

Daniel’s lips curve up slyly. “Maybe once or twice. Or seven times.” Jihoon chokes. "But you got me back in roulette.”

“We played _two_ different games together?”

“Yup. You still had amazing focus for someone who was apparently dead-wasted, by the way.”

Jihoon doesn’t know how to tell him he wasn’t just drunk on alcohol that night. But there’s one issue he fears even more. “How much did I lose?"

“Nothing. You won everything back, and then some.” Daniel lifts his left hand, wiggles his fingers. “That’s how you got us _these,_ remember?”

“What.”

“Oh right, you really don’t,” Daniel throws himself back onto the pillows beside Jihoon with a giggle, lying so Jihoon has to rest himself on one elbow to stare down at him. With his eyes cast upwards to meet Jihoon’s, Daniel grins and says, “You picked it out yourself, everything. The venue, the rings… said these felt the nicest. Said it was the one that looked best on me.”

“I did _not_ say that.”

“Did too,” returns Daniel, and Jihoon feels his ears go red at the thought of _ring-shopping,_ possibly even cooing at fancy jewellery.

He bunches the blanket around himself as they settle into a comfortable silence. For a while, it seems like Daniel has fallen asleep in all his half-naked glory. Jihoon starts to contemplate getting room-service for brunch when he hears a muttered, “So uh… Jihoon?”

“Hm?” 

Daniel fidgets with the covers near Jihoon’s hips. “Do you… um… want to know about how the ceremony went? Or do you want to know where we got the rings?”

_Do you want to continue this or stop everything altogether?_

It’s crazy. Of course a normal, sensible person would politely agree to Daniel’s latter offer in the hopes of amicably divorcing a marriage that lasted less than twelve hours at most. In the best case scenario, they can even become Facebook friends, liking each other’s profile pictures and random event interests in the most low-effort display of caring one could do on social media.

But Daniel’s fingers brush across Jihoon’s bare skin and his touch burns right through Jihoon’s body, setting him alight with tell-tales of desire. Whatever they did last night, Jihoon’s body seems to remember it, and Daniel has been so patient and pleasant throughout the whole mess and—really, Daniel isn’t the worst person to get accidentally married to.

“So it was legal.”

“Yep,” Daniel says, popping the ‘p’ off exaggeratedly. “Signed the documents and everything.”

“Was it even my real signature…”

“To be honest, I don’t think that Elvis Presley priest really cared.”

Jihoon guffaws, thinking of how ridiculous it must’ve been to see two Asian men get married in some makeshift church in the middle of Vegas. “Guess he just saw us exchange rings and pronounced us married, huh?”

“More or less. ‘ _Where are your rings? Okay. You may kiss. Now go, I have another customer waiting,’”_ narrates Daniel in a poor imitation of an old man’s voice.

_Now you may kiss_. Somehow this revelation—that they exchanged vows, that they shared their first kiss as a wedded couple—disarms Jihoon even more acutely than the first sightings of hickeys and nail marks.

He’d always imagined his first kiss as a married couple to be something out of a fairytale book, nothing short of perfect—and it frustrates Jihoon that he only has a blurry recollection of a dingy church and a pair of warm hands on his hips.

“Daniel… What was our first kiss like?”

It slips out of Jihoon before he can think twice; he doesn’t even get the chance to laugh it off or phrase it as a joke because Daniel suddenly sits up. When he turns to Jihoon, his eyes are bright and glimmering. 

“I’m bad with words. Do you want me to show you instead?”

Jihoon doesn’t know how much of that is the truth, but something in his chest makes him take the admission at face value and nod his head. And then their lips are meeting; soft and warm despite the chilly air in the hotel room. Daniel is cradling his jaw like he doesn’t want them to part and swallows all the small noises Jihoon unconsciously makes, groaning when Jihoon shifts in his place to almost pull himself onto Daniel’s lap by his nape—and really, there’s no way on Earth Jihoon would believe two shit-faced drunk people would ever make out so tenderly, so _soberly_ like this but he doesn’t want it to stop, and he’ll believe it if it means he can continue, will pretend that this is really their first kiss as legally wedded husbands. 

Thankfully, Jihoon gets a hold of himself before he lets things go too far.

“I think… I think I need time to process all this,” Jihoon bluffs. He swipes the back of his hand across his lips, still tasting Daniel on his tongue as he grabs the menu from the bedside table. “Tell me about the ceremony over brunch?”

Daniel beams even brighter than the late-afternoon sun, if that was even possible. “Sure!” 

Definitely not the worst. A few more hours of this freaky, wonderful mistake can’t hurt. (Maybe more.)  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chat/scream with me, or send me prompts over at <https://curiouscat.me/foxseal>!!! (i'd also be open to onghwang ones ouo)


	4. rowing club au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is one opponent Jihoon can't stand.

Jihoon throws his oars down angrily, the wooden clacks drowned out by the sound of cheers from the other side of the river.

“Damn it!” he groans—then, when he spots the cause of his current vexation, glares and mutters, “Son of a  _ bitch _ .”

“Jihoon, you have to calm down.” At this, Jihoon scowls even deeper. He knows Woojin means well, but the tone he’s using is the same one he uses to placate the cats scrambling for tidbits whenever he feeds them by the university gates—and Jihoon is in no mood to be patronised right now. “They won fair and square.”

He looks on—or more like  _ glowers on _ —as the Downing rowing team pulls their rowboat out of the water with a lot more pandemonium than is warranted for barely eight in the morning. They’re not even wearing anything under their life vests, and it’s late January in the middle of a river in fucking  _ Cambridge; _ the only people who’d even think of exposing their bare skin to the biting chilly winter weather are absolute lunatics.

And that’s exactly what Kang Daniel’s team is a bunch of. 

“ _ It’s good! To be! It’s good to be the Downing team!” _

“We need to fix our regiment,” Jihoon announces over the irritating chants growing ever louder in the background. He clenches his fist—the chants are doing his head in, but it’s only because the Downeys have to be so fucking  _ loud _ about everything. Definitely not because Jihoon can be a petty loser sometimes. 

“Aw,  _ again _ ?” Despite being the eldest in the group, Jisung is incredibly prone to incessant whining. “Can’t we take it easy? The regatta isn’t even coming up anytime soon.”

“Yes, but the intercollegiate tourneys are.”

“Honestly, it wasn’t even that bad of a loss,” someone mutters behind him. Jihoon feels a vein throb in his forehead.

“A loss is a  _ loss. _ " says Jihoon, tone hard. “We’re the reigning champions and we shouldn’t take that fact so lightly. This is the fifth time they’ve beaten is in less than two months.” 

At least this time his team knows not to argue, opting to clear away their equipment and leave him to stew in his frustrations alone. Jihoon sighs as he unbuckles his own life vest and picks up his oars. Already, he feels pretty shit for getting upset at his teammates, but finds it hard to apologise. 

He knows everyone puts their 100% in every rowing competition they hold. Being the dominant half of the stern pair (and, if he has to be honest, the more technically sound of the two), Jihoon’s had to face a lot of skepticism, and at times even harsh criticism, with regards to the decisions he makes in terms of rhythm and pace, or for falling short of expectations that are usually nonsensically ambitious. Being a key player in a nationally lauded team like theirs is no easy feat, and even harder when he's a first-year new recruit—especially when part of his job description is to lead a team he’s barely had time to become familiar with before entering the competitive sphere.

Still, Jihoon isn’t stupid—he’s taken into account of such risks surfacing, of course. Being part of the mastermind of the team isn’t something to take lightly, and his team knows this. Knows it’s the reason why he’s so tough on them on a normal basis. 

This is also the reason why seemingly careless, airheaded, and the good-for-nothing-but-muscles-type rowers like Kang Daniel irk Jihoon so much.

Speaking of which.

“Hey.” Jihoon, to his own dismay, recognises the voice before he even gets the chance to turn around. “Good game there. Your team really gave us a hard time.” 

It’s the first time the captain of Downing’s rowing team has ever started a conversation with Jihoon—he’s never had occasion to talk to Daniel before this, and so far it seems the sentiment is mutual—until today, also the day Jihoon’s team gets beaten five matches in a row. Meaning there’s only one reason Kang Daniel would even think of approaching him.

Another round of cheers erupt and Jihoon rolls his eyes. “If you’re here to gloat, Daniel, then forget it,” he says, testier than intended. He shoves his things into his sports bags angrily, not looking up because the last thing he wants is to see Daniel’s faux-pity face, masking the gloating grin he’s sure to have on. 

“What? I’m not here to—“ Suddenly there’s a hand on the handle of his bag, and Jihoon feels a well of anger rise up within him. His head snaps up. 

“Can’t you take a hint?” he seethes, irascible. “Leave. Me. And my team.  _ Alone _ .” 

Daniel’s jaw is set, and his stupid, dumb wide shoulders are tense. He looks like he’s poised for a fight, but like hell Jihoon is giving him the satisfaction of one. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding, Jihoon. I’m not being sarcastic when I said you gave us a tough match.” 

Jihoon scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

”Why are you being so  _ stubborn _ ?”

Jihoon finally, finally looks up, but doesn’t see much apart from Daniel’s frown through his anger-addled brain. “When your team is humiliated by more than a fifteen-second difference in big tournaments,  _ and _ the winner insists on ostentatious celebrations, you don't forget so easily. But,” he scowls. “I guess you wouldn’t know.” 

“What would you have us do?” 

Jihoon zips his bag up with more force than necessary and slings it over his shoulder, over which he sends Daniel a glare as icy as the winter waters of the river. “Nothing, Daniel,” he says, chilly. “That’s exactly all I’m asking you to do.”

If only Jihoon had turned around once before his walk back, he would’ve seen the hurt palpable on Daniel’s stunned, confused face. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my cc is always open /o/ <https://curiouscat.me/sealfox>


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